


Dangerous Ground

by libraryv



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-24 04:21:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18563812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/libraryv/pseuds/libraryv
Summary: Strike is out on surveillance one night; runs into Robin and things take a turn.





	Dangerous Ground

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [LulaIsAKitten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LulaIsAKitten/pseuds/LulaIsAKitten) in the [StrikeFicExchange](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/StrikeFicExchange) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
>  
> 
> Outdoors; chance of getting caught.
> 
> I'm still learning the ropes myself, thought I'd try my hand at a "one-off" that's nothing but shameless smut. I had this half-written but it turned into something else, so I revisited it for this prompt.  
> I read Hobbeshalftail3469's delightful response to this (loved it!); this is my own, different attempt. I read the rules - I don't believe a request is limited to only one response?  
> One last thing; I tried to let go of my own embarrassment when writing this (ha ha!) but I could only stand to re-read through it a few times - so apologies for any typos or grammar mistakes. I'm sure I'll get more used to it - right? :D

Strike leaned against the doorframe of the front of the building as he swiped quickly through the pictures he had just taken with his phone. Good enough, probably. 

He pocketed his mobile and drew out a cigarette, holding it between his teeth as he struck a match, lighting it with ease. The first draw was routine, the second one warmed him. It was bloody cold for September. He checked the time. Late. Or early, for the club goers across the street. He watched as a young couple came out of the double front doors, both girls giggling, one bent over, clutching the other’s arm. 

Time to go, he figured. He could get more pictures another day – his target would probably stay the night at the hotel. The images of his bed and a cold beer were hovering in his mind when another group of girls came out of the club doors, accompanied by a burst of thudding music and rowdy laughter. One of them was Robin.

She saw him at the same time as he did, waving her arms above her head, laughing.

“Cormoran!” 

“Is that your partner?” another girl asked, half-shouting in his direction. Hailey or Heather or something, Strike recalled vaguely. One of Robin’s new mates from her gym. She giggled at Robin. “You’re right – he is sexy.” The group laughed, elbowing each other as Robin shushed her. Strike could see her cheeks flush, adorably, from where he stood. 

“Alright you lot, I’ll catch up later.” Robin ran quickly across the street, giving Strike a pleasing glimpse of bare legs flashing above black heeled ankle boots.

“Yes, go give him a snog for us, Rob! Run your hands all over that big chest like you told us!” shouted another one of the women, and they all collapsed in giggles, walking towards the station. Robin stopped in front of him, her eyes glittering underneath long lashes, her skin tinged pink from the cold night air. Strike was painfully aware of her standing there in nothing but a flimsy dress, her arms bare. Her lips were darkened with red lipstick, and Strike had to focus a little harder on what she was saying.

“Sorry about them – a little bit too much to drink – just being silly - what are you doing here?” She asked in a rush. 

Strike, his mind overrun with images of Robin’s hands all over his chest, drew from his cigarette. “Mr. Fraud. I had to get pictures of him visiting the property late at night –“

“and you can’t do that when you’re undercover with him during the day,” Robin finished, nodding. “Got the pictures?” 

He loved this about her; loved her always insatiable curiousity about the case. 

“Yeah, I think so.”

Strike had his eyes on the hotel doors across the street. They opened suddenly; it was Strike’s mark. 

“Fucking Christ,” he said, quickly grabbing Robin by the elbow and pushing her against the wall. He flattened his body over hers, his arms braced by her head. There were a few tense moments. Strike stared resolutely at the brick wall straight ahead of him instead of down the front of Robin’s dress, inches away. 

“Is he leaving?” Strike said.

“I don’t know, I can’t see anything, you’re too bloody tall,” laughed Robin.

Strike bent his head towards her collarbone. His lips were hovering just above her skin. “Can you see over my shoulder now?” he breathed. He noticed the way his breath against her skin brought out goosebumps, and felt himself growing hard. 

_Think of something else, you bloody idiot._

“He’s talking to the doorman, they’re sharing a smoke,” whispered Robin. Strike felt her eyes on him. He didn’t remember her putting her hands on his chest, but he was damn well aware of them now. 

“What the girls said, earlier,” she said suddenly, her eyes still on his. “About me-,” she didn't finish the sentence, but her hands traveled lower still, to his belt, tugging it gently. Strike let out a breath, swaying forward. 

He knew they were on dangerous ground: this was ground they had an unspoken agreement to ignore. _This is ground,_ he told himself firmly, _that you do not venture onto._

“They were right.” Robin looked at Strike’s mouth and bit her lip. Strike didn’t say anything, he could barely breathe. She tugged on his belt again, this time bringing his body against hers. Strike cursed inwardly, couldn’t stop himself; he pressed the length of his hardness against her thigh, and Robin took a sharp intake of breath. 

They looked at each other, their bodies closer than they’d ever been, years of unspoken words hanging in the air between them. 

_Don’t be an idiot._

“Robin-“ said Strike, without any clear direction of thought – he was having trouble thinking about anything in the world other than Robin’s breasts, which were pushed up against his chest, tantalizingly rising up and down above the low cut neckline of her party dress. Every nerve ending in his body was screaming for him to grab her hips, grind himself into her, bury his face in those swells of creamy skin-

He cleared his throat. “Are they still there?”

Robin shook her head, her blue-gray eyes steady on his. “They’re gone.”

There was a beat of silence between them. The street was empty; he hardly cared. Her lips were almost against his. 

“Cormoran,” she breathed, her breath sending a bolt of desire down his spine. Her hands traveled back up and held the collar of his shirt. “Kiss me,” she whispered, and he had already moved closer, his lips on hers. 

Her tongue matched his, his body responding; he couldn’t believe this was happening. The feel of her body driving him mad, his hands caressing down the sides of her body, gliding past her waist, traveling up her back and down her bare arms, reveling in the feel of her. 

He could feel her response; could tell her own desire matched his. Her fingers were undoing his belt, she was grinding against him, he groaned as her hand dipped into his boxers and stroked him. “Fuck,” he groaned again, his body pumping into her hand, all pretense gone. He managed to wrap his arms around her, pull her closer, lift her slightly off her feet and against the wall. 

Robin squirmed against him, her hands going to his shoulders, rubbing her hips up and down, the heat of her core against his aching length sending flashes of pure need down his body. He lifted her higher, pressing her into the brick, the edges of her dress riding up. 

He knew the doorman at the hotel across the street might very well see them, might be questioning exactly why that man was lifting that woman against the wall, but Robin didn’t seem to care; she lifted her leg up and hitched it against his waist, her hands back in his boxers.

“Robin,” said Strike, breathing heavily. “Are you-“

“Cormoran,” she said, undoing him with that suggestive smile, that flirtatious cock of her head. “You should know that I’m not wearing any underwear.”

His eyes widened. Of all the invitations he’d ever imagined for this scenario, of all the words he imagined her saying, those were not the ones.

She grinned, blushing. “It’s actually just easier with this dress. I didn’t think, obviously-“

They both paused, their bodies pressed against each other, Robin half-lifted in his arms. Strike was aware of his pulse making his cock twitch in her hand. Her fingers closed around him, and he closed his eyes, lost in a rush of pure, heady pleasure.

“I want you,” he heard her whisper, and any reserve he had left went to hell. He bunched up her dress and lifted her full up, Robin gasping with surprise and then moaning as he pressed her into the wall and she lifted her legs around his waist. 

He waited for a second, the tip of him against her entrance, feeling how wet she was and shaking with effort. She moaned again, squirming against him, that wetness driving him past the edge of control, and he pushed into her.

She felt better than he had ever thought, her tight wet heat surrounding his cock, a rush of pleasure overwhelming him. He had never let himself imagine this far, had never let his complicated emotions take over. The sheer sensation of him inside her mixed with his feelings, rushing forward, and it made him light-headed. He grit his teeth, forcing himself to wait, to let her adjust.

Robin whimpered and rocked her hips forward, “no, don’t stop-“ she moved her hips again, drawing him further until he was deep inside.

“Fucking hell,” he groaned, his hips thrusting. He felt her body slide down a few inches, he lifted her up again, readjusting her, his hands firm on her butt. He gained momentum, both of them groaning this time as he thrust into her. 

“Wait, wait-!” Robin suddenly gasped, her hands pulling in his hair. He stilled, his pulse pounding in his ears, his cock throbbing.

“There’s a couple – walking-“

“Right," he managed to say. "Hang on, give me a sec-“

Strike lifted one arm at a time, supporting her with the other, and readjusted his coat so that it covered the sides of them like a blanket. He was sweating, each time he moved, a shot of pleasure went straight to the base of his spine. He could barely stand it; could barely keep in control. 

Robin was panting, moaning a little with each shift of him inside her. He finished adjusting his coat, could barely concentrate; Robin moved again, her hips sliding lightly back and forth, driving him wild.

“Please-“ Her eyes were glassy, she was clutching at him, he didn’t give a fuck about the couple supposedly walking towards them, he moved again, deep inside her. She gasped, meeting his movements, desperate. Strike was aware of approaching footsteps, but couldn’t stop, every sense was full of Robin, the feel of her, the smell of her. 

“Cormoran-“ her eyes squeezed shut. 

“Cormoran!” Robin said again, desperately, he felt her muscles tightening around him, squeezing. He could feel his own pleasure building, he was as close as she was. Robin’s hands were clutching at his collar violently, she was panting into his ear. 

“Oh god, I’m-“

He kissed her, thrusting into her, hardly aware of what was happening except some vague impression that they had to be quiet. He felt her clamping down on him, felt the muscles of her body tense, felt her half-scream into his mouth. It was too much, his own release barreled towards him, his body moving into her with a level of pleasure and desire he’d never felt before. He came, groaning a curse, the sound swallowed, his hips slowing, his movements shorter. 

He kept the kiss going, but slowed down; it was gentle, tender, and then he stopped completely, his arms still supporting her. Her hands released his collar, and she let her head rest against the wall behind her, a dreamy look on her face. Strike was shaking with the effort of control, still buried inside her, he was taking large gulps of air as he looked in the direction of the couple. 

“They’re fucking crossing the street, away from us” he half laughed, the words coming out in a gasp. He rested his forehead against the wall. 

He felt Robin’s hands press gently against his chest, felt the muscles in her legs trembling. He withdrew, slowly, and let her down, her body sliding down the wall until her feet hit the ground. Her hands went up and smoothed her hair.

He raised his eyebrows, still looking at her, and readjusted himself in his boxers, zipped up his pants. Robin was flushed. He reached out a hand and rested it on her arm. 

“Hey. That was – that got pretty wild pretty quick.”

Robin looked at his shoulder and nodded, tears in her eyes. 

Strike smiled at her. “Next time we’ll be a bit more conventional – maybe a bed?”

Robin looked up at him, tears spilling over, and grinned.

“Next time?”

Strike grinned back. “Maybe even a date, beforehand. What do you think?”

Robin laughed and wiped her eyes. “I think that sounds good.”

Strike reached for her hands, held them in his. “That sounds good to me, too.” He leaned down and gave her a gentle kiss.


End file.
